


Not A Stranger

by snuckybarnes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Sasha James, Based on Fan Art, But he comes back, Gen, Jon got replaced by the Not!Them, Slight spoilers for 161
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: “Who… What was that?”“A Stranger,” Sasha replies, voice tired and still unsteady. “Not Jon. But you are, aren’t you?”
Relationships: Sasha James & Jonathan Sims, onesided Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 40
Kudos: 618





	Not A Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the lovely art by Skyberia on tumblr, do go check it out! [[x]](https://skyberia.tumblr.com/post/614391562209837056/skyberia-archivist-sasha-and-notjon-who-just) [[x]](https://skyberia.tumblr.com/post/614477079959027712/some-further-notjon-thoughts-bonus-when-sasha)

It’s dark and cold. He’s...floating, almost, and if he were to imagine what it is like to have drowned, to be a corpse drifting through murky waters, this is probably how he would have pictured it. He doesn’t know for how long he’s been here, but it feels like forever.

Muffled voices reach him from time to time, though he can never seem to make out the words themselves. The one speaking now is familiar, even if he can’t give it a name. Names don’t really have much meaning anyway, do they? Not when they can be taken and given and taken again so easily.

The voice is usually soft, he knows, but now there’s an edge of steel to it, of desperation, and the words are frantic and determined. Then without warning, he is pulled upwards, remaining just below the surface of the biting water, and everything is clearer than it has been in a long, long time.

“...to see you, Jonathan Sims.” The words end there, leaving only laboured breathing in their wake, but they reach deep within him and light something he didn’t even know had been extinguished.

Jonathan Sims. That’s _him_. _He_ is _someone_.

He wants to come closer to the voice, ask it to tell him more, as it who it belongs to, because he knows it’s safe, knows it’s—

“Sasha?”

A new voice. Also familiar, but instead of relief it fills him with dread and terror.

“Stay back!” the first voice (Sasha, of course it’s Sasha. How could he forget?) calls out.

“What are you doing? I thought you hated Artefact Storage.” There’s something so _wrong_ about the second voice. It’s...too smooth and almost sickly sweet, like it’s been drenched in syrup and is still dripping with it.

“I said stay back! I’m getting Jon back, you piece of shit.”

The second voice laughs. “What’s gotten into you? I’m right here.”

“You’re not Jon.”

There’s a crash then, a crack, and the surface of the water splits in two. He reaches for it, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like water, but more like pulling himself through heavy soil, but he does it anyway.

Up above he can see the fluorescents of Artefact Storage, those lights that never seem to shine quite as bright as they should, and he pushes through the surface. He’s vaguely aware of a commotion somewhere nearby as he grasps the edge which is neither water nor dirt, but hard, smooth wood.

And he pulls himself free.

Jonathan Sims allows himself a few seconds to lie on the floor, panting and shivering.

Then he realises there is still a commotion, and he looks up to see Sasha using an axe of all things, to keep a man away from her.

The man is tall and lean, with smooth, pale skin and short, blond hair. He’s wearing a hoodie, which is frankly rather inappropriate for an academic workplace. Jonathan Sims (Jon, he reminds himself. People call him Jon.) knows that it’s the last person he saw before everything went dark and cold, and he knows that that person is to blame for it all.

Jon is not a violent man. It’s never been in his personality, and even if it was, his short and scrawny figure would never have done a good job of portraying it. Still, now he finds himself scrambling up from the floor and lunging at the pale man, tackling him off of Sasha and putting his hands on his throat.

“What are you? What did you do to me?” Jon demands, and his voice has an edge of panic to it. He doesn’t let up his grip to give the man a chance to answer, but he doesn’t need to. The man just laughs, that saccharine sound echoing between the walls of Artefact Storage, and he waits for Jon to give up.

Jon doesn’t get the chance to before there’s a sickening crack and the blunt edge of the axe hits the man in the head. The man’s face goes slack. Too slack. His jaw seems to hang far looser than it should and his skin turns slick and waxy. Jon pulls his hands from the man’s throat, and his palms feel oily when they come away.

“Get off it. It needs to burn.”

Jon blinks and looks up at Sasha, who lets go of the axe and pulls out a lighter from her pocket. God, how long has it been since he properly saw another human being?

“Now!” she says, her voice urgent.

Jon complies, moves away from the man who already looks like he’s melting, and watches as Sasha sets him alight. He is burning far faster than any human should, but Jon doesn’t even bother to mention that it’s dangerous to set a fire in the Institute like this.

They watch him burn, and soon enough there’s just a pile of ashes left, miraculously without anything else catching fire. Jon finally breaks the silence.

“Who… What was that?”

“A Stranger,” Sasha replies, voice tired and still unsteady. “Not Jon.”

“No,” Jon agrees, and he hears how faint he sounds.

Sasha finally looks at him then, _really_ looks at him. A myriad of emotions flash by on her face, too many for Jon to pick out them all. But he does think he sees confusion there, along with disappointment, relief and sadness. And finally Sasha smiles. It’s a sad thing, tinted with pity. “But you are, aren’t you?”

Jon nods. “Yes, I— It’s— It’s been so long and my head is quite the mess, but… Yes, I’m Jon. I’m sure of that at least.” He lets out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “Sasha, what happened?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she steps in close and wraps her arms around him in the first hug Jon has had in a very long time. He’s too stunned to return it at first, only managing a stiff pat on her back. “Oh, Jon,” she sighs. “Let’s go back to the Archives, I’ll explain what I can.”

___

Seven months.

Jon has lost almost seven months of his life to some... _thing_ pretending to be him. And everyone fell for it.

Sasha sits him down in her office and takes his statement. Then she tells him everything, from the chaos that followed the Prentiss attack (and that’s where the scars on her face and arms come from, dear _Lord_ ) to the suspicion and paranoia that has plagued her this last half year, to finally learning about the Not!Them.

Jon remembers Ms. Patel’s statement of the neighbour that got replaced, even remembers trying to talk to the woman about the whole event, and the thought that the same creature took his place makes him feel sick. Still, he listens to the tape anyway when Sasha brings it out for him, just as he listens to the other statements she has found on the subject.

She shows him a few pictures too, pictures that he _knows_ he should be in, but in his place there’s just that strange, pale man with his syrupy smile. Jon rarely takes pictures of himself and tends to avoid being in others’, but knowing that the few that existed have been warped and ruined makes him sadder than he would have expected.

“I did find this though,” Sasha says, reaching for a small box and placing it on her desk. “It doesn’t seem to be able to affect analogue recordings, and it hid everything with you in it. I don’t know why it didn’t just burn it, but I’m glad it didn’t.”

There are three tapes in the box, and two pictures. Jon recognises the statement numbers on the tapes as recordings where he featured without even having to ask. The pictures he remembers being pinned by Martin’s desk.

Polaroids, both of them, taken the one time Martin brought his camera to work. He was so careful with it, Jon remembers, and didn’t want to bring it with him often in case it would get damaged. But he did bring it on his birthday, when the Archive staff went for ice cream together. One of the pictures is a selfie, where Tim was trusted with the camera to take one of all four of them together. His free arm is slung around Sasha’s shoulder, who in turn has one arm around Jon. Jon has his arms close to his side, and Martin is close next to him so that they all can fit in the shot. Jon’s expression is neutral at best, but at least it’s _him_.

The second picture is taken at the same day and place, except Martin was behind the camera, wanting a picture of just his friends. Jon remembers more pictures being taken, but apparently these must have been the only ones he was in.

“It’s a good thing Martin likes vintage tech,” Sasha murmurs after a while.

“What? Yes— Yes, I suppose it is,” Jon replies. He falls silent again, and then finally dares to ask the question that’s been bothering him for the last few hours:

“Sasha? How can you trust me? I mean, how can you know _I’m_ me, when that thing clearly wasn’t?”

Sasha sighs and looks down at her hands. “I can’t know that. You sound like you do on those tapes and look like you do in those photos, but the other you had photos too. When I try to think about my memories of you they keep shifting, like, I see him but he’s sometimes blurring into you. Maybe that’s only because I know he wasn’t really in those memories, or maybe it’s because you’ve come back now.” She sighs again. “I can’t know you’re really you. But I know that what we burned certainly wasn’t, so I’m choosing to trust you. I am thinking about calling Melanie though.”

Jon blinks. “Melanie? Wait, Melanie _King_? Why?”

“She knew. She asked where you were and thought I was messing with her when I said that...that _he_ was Jon. It didn’t managed to alter her memories, so she would know for sure.”

“Oh.”

Sasha places a scarred hand on top of Jon’s. “You’ll be okay. I’m not letting anyone get hurt again.”

Jon turns his hand around and clings to Sasha’s. He didn’t know he could miss human contact like this. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, Jon.”

Jon smiles. Faint, but still a smile. It feels strange on his lips, but he wants it there. “Have you told Martin and Tim about this?”

“No, I— I wanted to be sure. And I didn’t want to put them in danger. But I’ll explain it to them first thing tomorrow, obviously.”

Jon nods. He wants to see them again, and hopes his impostor hasn’t ruined things too far.

“But Jon…” Sasha continues, squashing his hopes. “Tim has been… He hasn’t been in a great place since Prentiss. He wants to quit, but we’ve found out we can’t. Don’t take it too personal if he’s slow to trust you.”

“Right,” Jon says, trying to push the disappointment aside. “And— And Martin?”

“I don’t know. He’s not as bitter, but…” Sasha drags a hand across her face. “There was— There was this one time in September, I think. He asked if I had noticed anything odd about you because you were being nicer than normal. I didn’t think anything of it, but…”

“He suspected it wasn’t me because I—I mean, not-me, was being too nice?” Jon’s face falls, not sure whether to find some relief in the fact that someone had noticed he was gone, or to blame himself for being mean before.

“I don’t think he suspected something quite like this,” Sasha says, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

___

Jon goes to bed in the cot in old Document Storage while Sasha heads home for the night. It’s not very comfortable, and he tries not to think of how Martin spent months living here after Jane Prentiss came for him in his flat.

He gets only a fitful sleep, dreaming of floating through the void while someone else has taken his place in the universe and made a mockery of it.

When morning comes, he makes his way out to the breakroom, hoping to at least find some comfort in a cup of tea. It takes him far too long to realise he’s not alone, and by the time he properly notices Martin by the counter it’s too late to turn around.

“Oh, hello!” Martin greets, chipper despite the early hour. “Are you here to give a statement? I don’t think the Head Archivist is in yet, but you’re welcome to wait.”

Jon tries to reply, but he only manages to get his mouth open and closed a few times. He didn’t know he’d missed Martin, of all people, quite this much.

When Jon doesn’t reply, Martin tilts his head a little, his eyes narrowing for a moment. “God, I’m sorry, have we met? You seem so familiar but I can’t quite place you.”

Jon finally gets his voice to work again, and he clears his throat. “I, ah… I think it’s best to let Sasha explain. She promised to talk to you and Tim first thing in the morning.”

Martin chuckles. “What, Jon doesn’t get to be in on this mystery?”

The sound that catches in the back of Jon’s throat is rather pathetic, and he swallows before he makes another one. “Like I said, Sasha will explain. I’ll just...wait around.”

Martin’s expression softens into one of concern, and he drops the subject. “Alright then. Would you like some tea while you wait? I was just about to put the kettle on.”

Jon manages to smile. “I would love that. Thank you, Martin.”

Cup of tea in hand, Jon sits down in the breakroom and waits. Martin goes to his desk, and not long after there is the sounds of Tim arriving, and Sasha a short while later.

“Tim, Martin, I’d like you both to come to my office in five,” Jon hears her tell them, her voice heavy before her door closes.

“I guess Jon is late again, huh?” Martin says, and Jon can’t ignore how that hurts.

“Good for him,” Tim replies. “Any idea what the boss wants?”

Martin says something else, but it’s too quiet for Jon to hear it. Then there’s mostly silence before Tim and Martin go into Sasha’s office.

It takes an hour and fifty-three minutes. Then soft footsteps are coming in the direction of the breakroom, and Jon looks up to see Sasha standing in the doorway.

“Come on then,” she says. “Time to re-introduce yourself.”

“I… I already talked to Martin,” Jon admits as he stands. “But I didn’t say anything about this.”

Sasha nods. “I know.”

She leads him to her office, the nervousness building with every step he takes.

Tim and Martin turn around in their seat as Jon enters, with concern and shame written over Martin’s face, and frustration and distrust on Tim’s (which is just as scarred as Sasha’s). The tapes and the polaroids are on the desk, and there’s the faint sound of a tape recorder running in the background.

Jon wraps his arms around himself. “I, ah… Hello. I’m Jon. The real Jon. I trust Sasha has told you everything.”

“She did,” Martin confirms, his voice small and soft. “I’m so sorry, Jon, we should have noticed.”

“You couldn’t. None of this is your fault,” Jon assures.

“Well, we’re very glad to have you back—”

“How do we know it’s you?” Tim cuts in, voice harsh. “How do we know it’s not a second impostor?”

“Oh come on, Tim, you saw the pictures! You heard the tapes! It’s him—”

“All my memories are of the other Jon. This?” Tim puts a finger on the polaroid with all four of them, then points the finger at Jon. “He wasn’t there when we took that. I _know_ that.”

“Tim—”

“It’s a fair concern,” Jon interrupts, defeated. “I can’t prove it any more than Sasha already has. I can only hope that the alterations it did to your memories will revert with time. If you don’t trust me I won’t blame you.”

“I’ll call Melanie,” Sasha tells them. “Maybe she can put our minds at ease.”

Tim scoffs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

(Jon will later overhear Tim telling Sasha about how he expects Jon to pull off his skin. How he can’t shake the feeling that there’s someone else hiding beneath Jon’s face and that they need to find a way to make sure.

Jon doesn’t cry often, but he comes very close when he realises Tim might never see him as a friend again.)

___

“I’m sorry, Martin.”

They’re in the breakroom again, only it’s afternoon this time. Jon has been drifting around all day, not really knowing what to work with, and for once he thinks he might actually go home on time.

Martin frowns. “For what?”

“Sasha… Sasha told me that you were suspicious. Months ago, that you thought I seemed too nice. And while I don’t know what... _he_ said or did, I’d like to apologise for me being so rude to you that niceness was a cause of alarm.” Jon looks down at his hands, fiddling with the string on his teabag.

He risks a glance up at Martin, and sees him blushing slightly. “You don’t— You don’t have to apologise. It’s okay.”

“It’s really not. And I realise that apologising now is perhaps not the best way of convincing you that I’m me, but I need to.” He pulls the teabag out of the water, dipping it up and down and almost spilling tea all over the counter. “If… If anything like that happens to me again I don’t want to go away knowing that I’ve hurt people. I’ve not exactly been a good person, but I’d like to try.”

“You’re not a bad person, Jon. Here, let me get that for you.” He reaches for Jon’s teacup and prepares the tea the rest of the way. He puts the milk back into the fridge and then nods towards the ratty sofa. “Will you sit with me for a bit?”

Jon nods, grabs his cup and takes a seat.

“It’s hard to think of the past,” Martin says once he’s sitting too. “I keep not knowing whether to picture you or him. But I do know that you changed a bit after Prentiss. You were a lot more chatty, sometimes borderline flirty, and you were casual and confident. This, the way you are now? It’s a lot more authentic, and I don’t know, I can sort of _feel_ that it’s how you used to be before? When you were still you, I mean.”

Jon swallows, words failing him.

“What I’m trying to say is that I believe you. So what, you were a bit mean, but everyone is once in a while. You’re apologising now though and I appreciate that.”

Jon wraps his hands a bit tighter around his cup. “Thank you, Martin. God, this is a mess, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Did you hear we can’t quit? Or get fired?”

Jon nods. “Sasha told me. Tim’s not taking it too well, is he?”

“No. I guess I should be worried about it too, but I’m honestly just relieved about having supernatural job security.”

A memory surfaces in Jon’s mind, from one of the few times Martin has talked about his family. “You have a lot of medical bills for your mother, right?”

Martin sighs. “I do. It’s, heh, it’s why I lied on my resume.”

Jon blinks. Whatever he was expecting Martin to say, it wasn’t that. “You did?”

“Yeah. Sasha found out a few months ago. I have basically none of the qualifications I’ve said I have, and I turned twenty-nine my last birthday, not thirty-four.” Martin chuckles and pushes his fingers through his hair. “This day is already a mess so I guess I figured I might as well be honest. While there’s still time for you to take back that apology or something.”

“I’m not going to _take back_ my apology, that’s not how that works,” Jon protests. Then, quieter and staring into his teacup, he ads, “And I’m twenty-nine too.”

“I was serious about that, you know.”

“Me too.” Jon’s lips twitch into a shaky smile. “My, ah, my qualifications are my own, but I worried my age would make me seem incompetent. So I added a decade. I thought that if I was rude no one would notice when I was out of my depth.”

“We’re pretty ridiculous, aren’t we?” Martin asks, and while his smile seems a bit nervous, it seems genuine too.

Jon’s smile widens to match his. “I suppose we are. Lying on your resume though? I never would have thought you were the type.”

Martin shrugs. “That’s why it works. I’m very unassuming.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is though. But I don’t mind it.”

They’re both quiet for some time, until Martin speaks again.

“I’m glad you’re back Jon. And I’m sure Tim will come around soon enough.”

Jon almost believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! <3


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